Variance (Protocol #2)

1. 1

“It doesn’t make sense, but your aim is so much better when you turn your front foot a little,” Elias said. “It looks a little funny, but I think it helps you distribute your weight better. Or maybe you’re cockeyed.”

“Okay, fuck you,” I huffed. “I’m off by two inches, maybe. I’m still shooting the target in the head.” I’d already been through arms training, but we frequented the range to stay sharp. I didn’t need to fire a weapon on the job. I hadn’t needed to fire a weapon since October.

Elias stepped closer, pulling the right side of my earmuff off, his mouth near my ear when he spoke. “That’s a significant amount,” he argued. “If I was missing two inches, I think you’d be complaining.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head. “You could spare a few.”

“Are you trying to butter me up?” He asked, his hand hanging lightly around my waist. “You know, you really shouldn’t speak to your instructor like that.”

“If my instructor wasn’t such a freak, then I wouldn’t have to.”

He backed away. “You’re lucky someone else is coming in here.”

My arms were still raised, pointed at the target ahead. “Put my earmuff back, sir, I’m trying to follow orders.”

Ear protection in place, Elias had to speak a little louder. “I’ll be right back.” He nodded to the man entering the space as I fired off a few more shots. They were perfect.

I didn’t recognize the mystery man, but that wasn’t unusual; a lot of people worked in this complex.

Officially, I didn’t work in the building, but I did have access to the range as I unofficially frequented our unit’s shared office.

It was a lot to keep track of, really, and I had a few sets of credentials I needed to carry with me, depending on where I was going.

I worked for a shadow organization, like Elias had for years, so I carried whatever I needed for the day.

On the surface, I worked for the NIH, and spent a few days a week there, though I traveled to other labs and buildings in the area on a regular basis.

We’d been forced into a new unit, composed of other survivors, researchers, and soldiers dedicated to researching Adrian Taylor’s work: Iota Green.

Publicly facing, we were all split up. Outside of a communal office, we were almost never working together at the same place at the same time in an effort to hide that we were a team. Except for Elias and me, of course.

“Hey,” said the other man.

I unloaded my weapon, snagging the bullet from the chamber and setting it all flat against the counter.

He was younger than I was, probably early twenties.

He was missing the creases around his eyes and on his forehead that came with age.

His baby face made him look like a kid, and I pitied him for that.

It couldn’t be easy to command respect when you looked like a high schooler.

The sandy blond hair didn’t do any favors for him, either.

“I’m Agent Bloom,” he said, waving from a few lanes over.

“Hayes, uh, Cassia Hayes,” I said, returning the gesture. Did I think I was Bond, James Bond? I cringed. It was rare that I had an encounter with strangers that wasn't awkward.

“Well, Miss Hayes, you’ve got your front foot turned kinda funny, I’m surprised it’s not throwing you off balance.” He pointed to my foot. “Especially with a gun that big.”

The Sig Sauer in my hands wasn’t the biggest gun in my house, let alone the biggest I’d handled. After the incident at Baker and Pryor, the weapons training I was put through was more than thorough.

“I hear you,” I said, nodding. “But this is just what works for me.”

“Proper form is essential. I’m surprised your instructor hasn’t corrected that.”

The urge to roll my eyes and turn away was difficult to ignore.

I wondered if he gave everyone pointers, or just me.

We were in a government building filled with hundreds of people who were experts in firearms. Did he think I was the only one here that didn’t know what I was doing?

“I think I’ll be okay, but I will mention your concerns to my instructor. ”

Elias walked back in, right on time. He loved a good argument, and he loved to fight on my side even more.

Agent Bloom tsked me. “It’s never too late to break bad habits, Miss Hayes.”

“You gonna let him call you ‘Miss,’ Cassie?” Elias asked, shuffling past him.

“I thought correcting Agent Bloom would be rude.” I pulled off my earmuffs and let them rest around my neck, assuming we’d be talking for a while.

Bloom was taken aback. “I’m sorry, what should I be calling you?”

“Doctor, formally, but I’m not married, so Miss isn’t entirely incorrect either,” I said. “It’s not a big deal. Elias just likes to mess with people.”

“A medical doctor or do you just have a degree in English or something?”

Elias scrunched his face up, a mixture of offense and a little bit of “Can you believe he said that?” He looked at me and laughed, ignoring Bloom’s insensitive question.

“I’m a virologist. I work for the NIH,” I answered, confused as to what his problem was.

“This range is for people who work here, for the CIA.” He turned on Elias now. “And who are you?”

Elias just scoffed, turning away. “Trust me, we can be here.”

“Can I see your credentials, then?” Bloom held out his hand and waited.

He wouldn’t admit it, but I knew Elias was having fun. He’d act annoyed in the car, but he loved to bicker. He tossed the kid his bifold.

“Hmm,” Bloom said. “Records security, and your clearance level is. . . I’ve never seen that before. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is fraudulent.”

“Oh, it is,” said Elias. “I snuck into a federal building because there are no other ranges nearby.” He shook his head, and I knew it would only be a minute or two before his thumb and forefinger found the space between his eyes. “Don’t be a dumbass.”

“You don’t have to be rude about it,” Bloom muttered, handing Elias’s credentials back.

“Good God,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, as expected. “Cassie, pack it up. We’ll come back Sunday.” He turned to the young agent. “Please don’t be here on Sunday.”

We normally only came on Sunday mornings, once or twice a month, but we both had to report to this building today.

It was nice being able to carpool. I wouldn’t mind living closer to the city just in terms of the commute, but I loved Elias’s house, our house, and I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

Besides, I didn’t have to go in every day as most of my reports could be written at home.

It was funny to think how adverse I had been to my life changing so drastically, but I got paid more and had to work less, so I had nothing to complain about.

The 401k matching was exceptionally generous, and Elias made sure I contributed as much as I could to it.

He made me invest most of my money, actually.

I double-checked that my weapon was empty, and put it in its hardcase, snapping it together.

Elias bought it for me, naturally. He didn’t mind me using his weapons, so I assumed he just wanted a reason to buy something new.

A shiny black SIG 220 wrapped in a bow waited for me when I got home from my first day of training.

It was a .45, of course. He wanted me to have something cool, and to look a little more elegant in comparison to the Glock 17 I’d grown accustomed to.

Elegant and cool being his words, not mine.

It was overkill and I didn’t need it, but Elias was Elias.

“Do you want to get dinner in the city tonight?” He asked, helping me gather the rest of my things. My purse was forgotten on the ground and he picked it up, sliding the strap over my shoulder.

“Are you tired of cooking for me?” I elbowed him lightly in the side.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t cook–it was just that he was better.

He’d been alone for so long, I suspected that he enjoyed having someone to wait on.

Never able to kick the meal prepping lifestyle, he always made plenty of extras, and when he wasn’t home I just ate leftovers from the freezer.

Honestly, he was the best roommate I’d ever had.

He cleaned up after himself, never leaving beard hairs in the sink or on the counter, and was neat and organized in general.

Not that we were just roommates, by any means.

Though he didn’t expect anything from me, I did my best to contribute to the household.

There wasn’t much to do besides laundry and sweeping the floor.

Trying to be my best self, I mostly stopped smoking.

I kept a pack in the kitchen, and if we were drinking, then I would end up on the patio with a cigarette in my hand.

Elias didn’t ask me to quit, but I knew he preferred when I didn’t smell or taste like smoke.

He ran his hand over my ponytail, flipping the end of it between his fingers. “I’m never tired of cooking for you. I thought we might want to celebrate being able to carpool today.”

“Do you need to make up an excuse? Anytime you want to do something fun, you say that we’re celebrating.” I remembered my first night at his house, when he told me he didn’t have much to celebrate. “You know, we can just do things we want to do because we want to do them?”

“Where is your whimsy?” he asked. “It’s more fun to celebrate, and we have so much to be happy about.”

If Agent Bloom wasn’t staring at us, I’m sure Elias’s hands would be on me, my arms, my waist, or my face. He was very touchy, but I didn’t mind; that’s who he was. There wasn’t a woman on Earth who would be upset if Elias constantly had a hand on them, and I was no exception.

“Then I’m happy to celebrate the day with you, and the start of the weekend, too,” I said. “We should probably go somewhere expensive, if we are celebrating extra today.”

“Are you able to be here because you’re together and he works for the CIA?” asked the nuisance.

“What’s your problem, man?” Elias asked. “Do we genuinely have an issue right now?”

Bloom shook his head, nonplussed. “I’m cool.”